


Ghost Stories from Teufort 2013 - Entries

by demonfox38



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fanzine Archive, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:37:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: Contains the stories "Red Tape Recorder" and "Feuervogel" from a 2013 Halloween Fanzine for "Team Fortress 2." Archiving due to missing .pdf. Miss Pauling deals (or fails to deal) with a spreading mimicking demon ripping her coworkers apart, and the Medic decides to hatch what is obviously not a dove egg.





	1. Red Tape Recorder

Helen—I’ll make this quick.

If you’ve gotten into my office by now, then I am sorry for the mess. I could not think of a more efficient way to kill what was in the basement. Fire seemed like the best choice. Those creatures were all over it. If the Demoman had been available, I would have had him blow up the place. As it was…well, I had to take a cruder approach. I’ve sealed the insurance information in my vault, along with this recording. At the very least, you should be able to get some money back for my destruction.

God, I hope you don’t have to hear this.

I suppose you’ll be looking for someone to blame. Frankly, I don’t know who was taken first. I would have to guess the Pyro, given my initial exposure. Please don’t be cross with him when you see him. We slipped up. We should have noticed something was wrong with him. He became so quiet.

I’m sorry. I thought I saw movement.

It wasn’t until a creature attack the Scout that we knew what we were facing. I heard fighting in the kitchen, so I went to go see what the issue was. The Scout was yelling at the Pyro and was pointing his finger in his face. It snapped back. God, Helen. It was like his mask was a mouth. Just opened up, and there were all these teeth!

The creature would have devoured the Scout’s whole body, had it been given the chance. It took his index finger, then his hand, then his entire right arm. Three bites, all along joints. I opened fire it as it was taking a fourth bite. I was in such shock that I didn’t realize when my gun was emptied. It didn’t take all that much to kill that monster—a cluster in the head—but, at the time, I felt it necessary to exercise additional force.

It wasn’t until the Heavy and Sniper found me that I came to my senses. They said I was screaming. I honestly don’t remember.

Unfortunately, the Scout bled out before we could find the Engineer or the Medic. They were most certainly taken before that happened, probably when the Engineer went to check on the fuse box. I don’t know if he blew it on accident, or if they did it on purpose. They seem smarter than they look.

…I don’t think it heard me. Pardon me while I get under the desk.

It had been my idea to send the Demoman and the Sniper into the basement. The Soldier and the Heavy helped me search upstairs, but we never found any signs of other monsters. Or anyone else, though that didn’t come as a surprise.  We were set to rendezvous outside of the base. We must have waited for ten minutes, but the party from the basement never returned.

It was foolish of us to go back into the base. Given the circumstances, we didn’t know what else to do. I was certain that both men had been killed. The other two were more optimistic. How could I have stopped them from investigating? Rank? At the very best, I am half their weight and have a quarter of their strength. I could have used lethal measures to stop them, but they were—they are my men, Helen.

The Soldier found the Demoman at the basement’s steps. I have never seen his jaw drop that low before in my life. Frankly, I don’t know how I didn’t scream. There the Demoman was, all chewed up. Less like a man, more like a pile of meat. Perhaps that isn’t the worst condition I’ve seen that man in, but it was still an unpleasant sight. Even his armor was shredded to pieces.

When the Soldier reached down to help him, the Demoman lifted his head, smiled, and bit through his neck.

As he collapsed, dozens flung themselves out of the shadows. The Heavy wasted no time in opening fire. My own gun ran dry long before his. He didn’t bat an eye our predicament. He told me to run, and I ran.

He lasted much longer than I thought he would. He blocked off the basement, giving me just enough time to grab the Pyro’s flamethrower and his gloves. It’s not enough protection, but it was all I could get. When his gun went silent, I was certain he was done for. He never called for help.

I’ve spent too much time talking about what happened to us.

If I fail, you need to know what they look like. They’re shape shifters, obviously. Still, you can tell when they’re not us. These things are usually smiling. At least, that’s what it looks like. I think they don’t quite understand how the human mouth works because they like to leave it hanging open. Even when they’re not explicitly human, they have wide, open mouths with sharp teeth. They all have distended stomachs as well. At the very least, they seem capable of eating an entire human. That is probably not something you will notice if they’re disguised as us, so don’t depend on it.

I don’t know who I have left. I am certain that the Scout, Soldier, Pyro, and Demoman were victims. We never found the Medic, the Engineer, or the Spy. I get shivers thinking about how horrible it would be to face these monsters, should they figure out how to manipulate the Spy’s cloaking tools. I suppose the Heavy or the Sniper could still out there, but I don’t think I can depend on assistance from them. If the Demoman, a strong man with body armor, was shredded by these things, then I can’t imagine the Sniper surviving close-combat with these creatures. Perhaps the Heavy could kill these monsters, but he wouldn’t be fast enough to take them all on empty-handed.

I don’t know what they’re doing with our men. Respawn was still active, last time I checked. And yet, I never saw anyone else, once they were killed. Not even the Scout. I hope they were taken to another base. If not that—then I hope they are armed, wherever they are.

I don’t think I’ll get very far. Still, I have to try. If you see me again, make sure to ask me about this tape. It might be the only verification you get that I am still myself.

…I have to go.

I am at the door. I look awfully happy.


	2. Feuervogel

It was round, hard, black, and warm. The Medic had never seen something like this. His face was alit with curiosity, pushing the wrapped object back and forth on his desk. This had to be a raptor’s egg of some sort. It was much larger than the dove eggs he had raised. He had no idea what he was going to do with such a creature, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to try incubating it.

“Where did you find such a thing?” the Medic asked.

The egg’s retriever gave a nervous fidget. The Sniper tilted his hat back, then lowered his sunglasses. He seemed speechless. His cocksure behavior always had a way of fleeing when he was visiting the Medic’s infirmary. The German doctor waited for an answer with as much patience as he could muster. Which, at that moment, was barely enough to keep him quiet for ten seconds.

“Ya wouldn’t believe me,” the Sniper finally replied.

That wasn’t a good enough answer. The Medic grinned, his eyebrows raised in devious arches. He growled with a low, steady urge. “Tell me.”

The Sniper pulled his head back. There was no escaping the Medic’s curiosity. He regained his composure, then shared his story. “I was out huntin’, yeah? Saw this flash in the distance. Went out to investigate, ‘n I found this dead bird. Had an egg in its belly. Figured it wouldn’t be roight to let it cook in the desert, so I took it back with me. Thought to myself that if anyone could take care ‘a somethin’ like this, it’d be you.”

“Did you kill its mother?” the Medic interrogated.

The question stung. Screwing up his face, the Sniper shook his head. “No. Never kill a mum. Not if I can help it.” He whistled low, then straightened his spine. “Doc, there was nothin’ but bones left of its mum.”

The Medic tipped his head. “Bones?”

That was an answer loaded with impossible implications. Either that egg’s mother had laid it in the carcass of another bird, or it had never been laid. Neither scenario made sense. The Medic pushed his glasses back, then studied the warm egg. No, this wasn’t residual energy from the desert. It was still alive within its shell. However it had gotten to him, it was his now. The mystery of what was in the egg was more thrilling than how it had come into this world.

“I will hatch it,” the Medic said.

“D’ya think your birds will be all roight with this?” the Sniper asked. “Wouldn’t be good for them bein’ hurt just ‘cause we got a case of the softies.”

The Medic rocked the egg again. There was that possibility. He glanced at the flock hanging from the ceiling light fixtures. They were very curious about the strange, round object on the Medic’s desk. None of them would descend without their flock leader’s guidance. Even he was transfixed. His master pondered what they were doing. Was this an act of fear, or restrained observation?

The Medic smirked. “They know how to stay out of danger.”

If anything, he thought that they may cause more trouble than whatever was in that egg. The flock was exclusive, picky. It chased off anything that leader Archimedes deemed unworthy. Barn swallows, hawks, vultures—it didn’t matter what the bird was. If they didn’t like it, it was gone. He would have to keep a close eye on them, too.

With a little retrofitting and help from the Engineer, the Medic had an incubator prepared for the large egg. The machine radiated a great deal of warmth and just a little bit of light. It made small whirrs as it turned its payload from time to time. The machine was just as comforting to watch as a fireplace. The Medic could sit by it for hours on end, watching for even the slightest bit of movement.

Slowly, but surely, others began joining him in his observations.

Archimedes was always the first to poke his beak into human affairs. The Medic caught him watching the rotating egg while his master was out causing chaos on the battlefield. The bird would always hop away when he was caught being naughty. He had no guilt about what he was doing. He just pretended that he wasn’t doing it at all.

One bird became two. Two became three. Three became five, then eight. His flock was very curious about the strange creature being warmed in the incubator. They would rush away any time the Medic opened the machine up for observation. Only Archimedes would have the gall to stay around while his master worked. If he became too lonely, he would nip at his master’s hands for attention. Most of the time, however, he was just as satisfied as the Medic to watch the egg.

 Weeks passed. To the middle-aged human, time was such a fleeting thing. He barely had enough breaks to keep his head on, what with the enemy constantly knocking it off. Still, he kept monitoring the situation. So did his doves. While he kept notes, they kept watch.

When bits of hay began appearing in his office, the Medic began to wonder.

Cleaning up the scraps that lined the infirmary beds did no good. He’d clear one pile away, and another would appear. He found himself smiling after the third time.

“What do you know?” he asked them.

Slowly, he introduced the flock to the black egg. He pushed the incubator’s lid back, then let Archimedes sit upon the egg. One by one, each dove crowded around it. Even the females—a territorial lot that constantly stole each other’s eggs—sat contently together by it. He had never seen such unity in the flock. When he shut the machine off, they took over. It wasn’t long before they had it jammed full of hay as well.

It all seemed ideal until three days later—when the fire alarm went off.

The shrieking siren snapped the Medic awake. He smelt what was wrong long before he got downstairs. Smoke. Fire. Signed feathers. He rushed downstairs, expecting to find nothing but a rolling cloud of smoke and dead birds. Had he forgot to unplug the machine?

The Medic threw himself into the infirmary as his teammates finally roused themselves. What he saw brought a fearful, confused expression to his face. His doves had backed away from the incubator. All seemed to be in good condition, save for being coated in soot. The incubator itself was charcoal black. Fire leapt from its contents as the large egg inside it shook back and forth. As its occupant struck its eggshell with its beak, flames leapt from inside the egg. With three final cracks, the egg erupted into a brilliant, white fireball.

What sprang from the egg was beautiful.

The hatchling was coated in white down. Its feet and beak were gold, its eyes the only reminder of its black shell. Even the charring of its environment didn’t faze the little bird, nor did it stain its fluffy body. It gave a small peep. At its sound, the fire surrounding it fell flat. The Medic heard feet clamber behind him as his teammates peered into the infirmary. The Pyro seemed especially enthusiastic to investigate the source of the fire. The doctor softly pressed him back, then entered the infirmary.

Both the Medic and the doves approached the hatchling. It was easily as big as the full-grown doves. Even so, they did not flinch at its curious motions. One dove presented its mouth to the strange, young creature. The Medic’s smile widened. Already, his flock was feeding it. Good. It had been accepted.

The team watched as the Medic’s flock took care of the bird. There were whispers of congratulations and pats on his back. He could hardly call this his own achievement. Archimedes hopped onto his shoulder, watching humans and birds alike gape at the sight. He pecked at the Medic’s ear. The German offered his hand to the bird, then pet his back. It was his victory, too.

When the birds were done feeding the hatchling, the Medic picked it up. “I will call you Oppenheimer.”


End file.
